


Rite

by jury



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Comment Fic, Incest, M/M, Magic, Ritual Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 09:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jury/pseuds/jury
Summary: Merin will not let his brother die, whatever it takes. Whatever the cost. Whatever he has to do.





	Rite

**Author's Note:**

> Written for "100 words of codependent royal siblings".

It's half an hour on the battlefield before Merin finds Ator, half an hour of going up and down between rows of corpses, the smell of pitch in his nose. His horse is increasingly agitated, chuffing breaths into the chilled night air. Father — the king himself had said _Prince Ator is lost _with an air of resignation that Merin hadn't felt. He would know if Ator had died. He would know.

But he almost had. Merin finds him three quarters dead with an arrow in his side, his breath barely enough to fog a mirror. Three quarters dead, but not yet crossed over to the underworld. That would be a longer journey to retrieve him, Merin thinks, struggling to sling the weight of Ator over Sully's back, even with Sully's helpfully bent knee. Ator is huge and thick with muscle, one hand still clutched tight around his sword. Merin leads the horse into the forest; at night the ground here is bright with heartfern and scattered, diffused leylight.

He strips Ator of his armor, careful not to disturb the arrow, and digs five holes around him. One at each hand, each foot, and one above the head. Ten drops of their mixed blood in each hole. Ator's is easy to get, but Merin winces each time he squeezes another from his fingertip. He's the baby, suffering Ator's fond smiles and ruffling of his hair, pushing him away and wishing him closer every minute. Ator seeks him out just as often as not, always hooking an arm around his waist with an easy, fond smile. Merin has seen the way Father looks between them sometimes, a hard, suspicious look on his face like he can somehow sense how Merin's blood leaps when Ator seeks him out.

Once he thought he saw his ugly, beating desire reflected in Ator's eyes when he was drenched in bloodlust, braids clattering with their godstokens as he roared victory out across the field, but Ator's mind was never quite there when he was berserk — it could have been lust for anyone.

He will not let Ator die. Merin strips them both naked and climbs atop his brother. His thundering heart is just because of the ritual, just because of the power starting to run up his legs and coalescing in his thighs. Nothing more. He bends forward, seeking the feeling of that slight breath from Ator's bloody mouth against his own, and opens himself roughly, using a healing oil from his bag. It takes longer to coax Ator's cock to hardness, even assisted by the spark of magic that Merin adds.

His magic has never been good enough for war or witching; he neglects it rather than nurtures. But now it roars through his body, his high, choked-out breaths harsh in the quiet night. Ator's breath quickens, his forehead furrowing. This is a good sign.

Merin pushes the head of his brother's cock into his hole and cries out. It's thick and huge and inhumanely hot, bare flesh against flesh. He rocks backwards unconsciously, shoving it deeper and then again, the pain and the stretch a pleasure in itself just because it's finally _real. _He braces himself, suddenly remembering he's here for a ritual and not his own pleasure. It's almost impossible to concentrate with the full length of Ator's cock pushed into his body, placating himself by moving slightly as he focuses his power, just enough to satiate the edge of his hunger.

He feels it the moment the ritual works; power roars through him and down into Ator's body, his hips kicking up and shoving his cock deep into Merin, who gasps. Ator's eyes open slowly, his face briefly sleepy-eyed and vulnerable as he struggles to grasp where he is and who he's with. Merin flushes, full-bodied, as their eyes meet; as Ator's eyes travel down his chest and then to Merin's hard, wet cock, dripping with his pleasure. Then further down, to where they're joined.

"Merin — brother — "

Merin reaches down and pulls the arrow free. Pain floods into his side and he collapses forward. Dark red marks and bruises bloom across his ribs as he pulls Ator's wounds into his own body. Ator shouts — but not with pain, gripping at Merin's hips as he comes, his eyes wide. It's hot and wet and _satisfying_ as he shoots inside Merin, but Ator stays hard. The ritual demands more.

"Merin — what did you _do_?"

"I brought you back," Merin says, touching Ator's face, his neck, with a bloody hand. Ator's mouth is soft with pleasure, his eyes glassy and confused, but he answers with a soft nod, an insistent shift of his hips. "You belong with _me_."


End file.
